


Sacrifice

by valderys



Series: Lodestone [3]
Category: Lost, Taggart - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: bdotp, Crossover, M/M, Monaboyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was late and the mood in the caves was sombre. Or maybe, Charlie thought, that was like saying the Himalayas were a bit pointy, or that Manchester was just a little bit grim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005 for Bdotp's Kissathon.

It was late and the mood in the caves was sombre. Or maybe, Charlie thought, that was like saying the Himalayas were a bit pointy, or that Manchester was just a little bit grim. It said something, but it conveyed nothing, not really. Understatement of the year.

He was trying to strum an idle tune or two, in an attempt to soothe both himself and… others. But with the top string snapped, and no replacements, he was having to finger round old beloved songs, and the modulations were coming out weird. Strange half-tones and minor chords. He stopped in the end. It was unsettling and that was the last thing he wanted.

He looked across the fire, and watched Jack trying to examine Jamie's neck. The livid bruises from where he had been hung were extraordinarily clear on his pale skin, and Charlie wanted to flinch away, or just ignore them, but he couldn't. He knew that. It had to be faced. What had happened. What he had allowed to happen.

If only he had noticed Jamie had left to follow Claire. If only he hadn't been so caught up in his own self pity and jealousy, he might have noticed that Jamie needed him. After all, he should know that about Jamie. He told him every day, in looks, and gestures, in unspoken words. Jamie needed Charlie. He did. Perhaps Charlie had just needed reminding…

Charlie shivered a little as he looked up at the invisible looming canopy above him. This island. This place… It was a harsh lesson he had learned during his withdrawal, you would think that he had learned it well. But apparently not well enough. I promised, Charlie thought, looking up to where he knew the stars would be, I promised you anything at all. So I'm ready. Whenever it comes. I won't regret it. But just you keep Jamie safe. I've offered the sacrifice – and you gave me back Jamie. I won't forget. I'll go quietly, I'll do anything that you want me to do…

He looked down again, and like a beacon – or a promise – he caught a flash of green, darker in the firelight, but it caught at his soul as it always did. Jamie looked directly at him so rarely… His thumb stung suddenly and Charlie lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked at the throbbing scratch, where mere hours ago – it felt like days – his guitar string had snapped and cut him. Then he looked down at his beloved instrument, and thought, well, that was another sacrifice, of sorts. Being unable to play in anything other than minor keys, that was a sacrifice too. Wasn't it? Charlie wondered what it might have bought him.

He watched as Jack gave up trying to properly examine Jamie's neck. Charlie found himself wincing in sympathy as Jamie tried to let Jack touch him, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Jamie's neck was always sensitive, more vulnerable than any other part of him, and Charlie knew that. He felt a low growling of anger in his belly, at the thought that Ethan had chosen to use hanging, of all methods of possible execution. And then enormous grief, as he followed the thought through to its logical conclusion – that it was probably chosen deliberately. Ethan would have noticed a thing like that. He had lived among them all. They had broken bread together. He was one of them.

Betrayal was a bitter dish.

He was so lost in his own black thoughts, that it came almost as a surprise to feel a presence hovering near his shoulder. Jamie had made his way round the fire and was standing irresolutely behind him, face turned away, hands plucking on a thread from one seam. He'd put his yellow raincoat back on, Charlie realised suddenly, and wondered that he hadn't noticed earlier. Jamie hadn't worn it for days now, he must have fetched it from their luggage, from their little sad collection of personal items, some time since they'd brought him back. Brought Jamie back, but not Claire. Unexpectedly, Charlie wondered what had happened to Claire's bag of personal things. And then wondered why it bothered him.

Then he almost jumped, at the feel of fingers tugging on his t-shirt, light, and tentative, but still there, warm and almost brushing against his skin. He shivered at their nearness, and then marvelled at it. Jamie… Charlie looked up, longing for something from him, anything. A sign… His eyes felt dry and pricking, as though he held a dam about to burst, and his chest was tight. It had been a long time. He'd lost count how long it had been since he'd cried for anyone, but this place… This place drew tears from him like water from a rock. He looked up at Jamie, and blinked them away.

Jamie led them both away from the fire and into the dim arching overhangs of the jungle. The night smelt sweet and wild, like nights never did in a city, and there were little noises, small creatures probably out hunting, killing and being killed. It made his hands itch, it made him want his knife back, but it had gone back into Locke's suitcase along with all the others. Charlie felt exposed without it. He imagined every strange shadow to be Ethan crouched in the dark, preparing to spring.

Then, tentative, warm fingers caught at his hand, and Charlie inhaled at the pleasurepain of it, as Jamie jarred the cut on his thumb. He focused then, cutting out all the jungle noise, the wind rustling in the bamboo, the small deaths in the night, and focused on the one important thing in his life. The person that had been given back to him, after he had thought him lost beyond redemption. The one person that was worth everything.

"Jamie?"

He wasn't looking at him now, he was holding Charlie's hand, tracing it with his fingers, delicate and slow. It almost tickled.

"I'm sorry."

The words fell flat. But Charlie didn't want to leave it alone this time – this was what he did, talking. He talked his way through life, Charlie the clown, the joker. The rock star. Charlie the con-man. He shouldn't forget any of it, he should use it, should remember his strengths, his weaknesses, should remember that he had found that connection once. Somehow. And if he didn't want to lose it again he had to talk. Talk and make it matter.

"Jamie? I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry we couldn't save Claire too. And I'm sorry that I didn't understand – still don't, if you want to know the truth. I don't know why you followed her, and I don't know why she's so important. Important enough to nearly kill for. I wish I did, but I don't. And I'm not asking you to explain, because maybe you don't know either – but I know you didn't mean for this to happen, and I didn't either, and it's all fucked up, and I'm so very sorry…

He gasped as Jamie lifted his other hand and held it to his lips to silence him. Jamie's skin was soft and dry, blood warm against his cold mouth, and he could hear Jamie's stupid plastic raincoat crackling incongruously in the silence as he began to trace around Charlie's mouth very delicately with his fingers. Charlie winced a little as Jamie caught his split lip, and bruised jaw, souvenirs of his fight with Ethan. He stood there feeling numb and stupid, as Jamie traced every single injury he had managed to acquire, but by the end, Charlie's breath was hitching, and he could feel his ears and throat flushing warmly in the dark.

Then Jamie reached for Charlie's fingers, and lifted them to his own neck. Charlie nearly jerked away then, it was too much, too personal. He couldn't mean it. But Jamie didn't look up, but didn't flinch either, as he held Charlie's hands firmly, and guided them to trace the livid marks, already faded from their earlier bright scarlet into a dull and angry bloom against the skin. Charlie held his breath as he ran his hands round Jamie's neck, as gently as he knew how, feeling Jamie tremble under his touch, and the fine texture of his skin hot and swollen under his fingertips.

This close, Charlie could smell the strange plastic tang of the raincoat, and the rich faintly flowery scent of Jamie himself. He could feel the huff of Jamie's breath against the skin of his throat, could lean forward and rub his cheek against the fine tufts of hair, getting a little too long now, and beginning to curl sweetly about the nape of his neck. He could lean, just a little, just a few inches really, until he could press his lips to Jamie's temple, feeling his pulse beating there, rapid and strong. Oh, so strong. So steady and rhythmic, and most especially alive, that he could almost cry with the relief of it.

He hung there, caught in the moment, feeling it so perfect, so utterly right, that it seemed the most natural thing in the world when Jamie tipped his head up, faint stubble feathering along Charlie's bearded cheek, almost tickling him. Charlie turned his head slightly to meet his movement, and then, as easily as that, they were kissing, gently, hungrily, and Charlie felt his heart skip, and then start again.

Jamie was normally all about darting tongue and eager breath, Charlie remembered. As though he didn't know quite what to do with himself, so was trying to do it all at once. But this Jamie was all slow slide and sweep, as though he was trying to taste Charlie, to draw him in. He could feel Jamie pull him closer, and responded to that by tightening his hands on Jamie's shoulders, another unusual experience that nearly made Charlie whimper into Jamie's mouth. Jamie couldn't be held easily, would always need a way out of the most tentative embrace, but this time he seemed so eager to be held, to hold. I'm not the only one who was afraid, Charlie thought then, the revelation blinding, and now he thought of it, blindingly obvious. I've been so very selfish.

So he dug his hands into Jamie's shoulders, feeling muscles tense over fine bones, and Jamie pressed himself closer, until Charlie did groan at last. It wasn't enough to make up for the horrors of the day, not enough, by a long way. But it was sweet, so very sweet, to stand under the same trees that had nearly made an end of them, and taste his Jamie, to hold him as close as flesh, as breath could make him. The cut on Charlie's thumb throbbed where it slid on the shiny plastic raincoat, another reminder of pain, if one was needed. And then Charlie thought, I have paid all I need to. For now. My sacrifice has proved worthy.

Until the next time.


End file.
